


Not You

by Carolinathousandcities



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: F/F, Fridget, Wentworth - Freeform, season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-02 11:34:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10943673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carolinathousandcities/pseuds/Carolinathousandcities
Summary: All you want is to pull her body into yours and never let her go.The Freak thinks she knows something. But does she? What happened to Bridget?





	Not You

**Author's Note:**

> This is a hard one...please pay attention to the warnings! Ferguson asked Bridget a question in S4. Wentworth never mentions anything without a reason so as much as I hate the idea, here's how I imagined the aftermath. Set in current timeline.

 The words on the pages of her textbook were running together. Her eyes were- ugh, they were burning. They felt like they had when she was younger, a kid really, at parties, everyone smoking, the dirty air getting in her eyes.

Franky drew her fingers across her wrinkled forehead. Agitation? Or exhaustion? It was all the same in here.

She leant back in her chair, hands locking behind her head as she stared at the ceiling.

_No. Come on focus._

She wouldn’t stop. Not until she found something, anything, some loophole that would fucking get her out of here.

She wasn’t supposed to be here. Not anymore.

She had a- no. No she didn’t.

_Don’t think that way Doyle. Separate it. God. Separate it. Or it’ll kill you._

She sighed. Ragged. Like the last bit of air that leaks out of a near empty tire when you put pressure on it.

She shook her head roughly, staring back down at the books spread out in front of her. Two weeks ago she’d been looking at a similar book at the kitchen table while Bri- _just fucking quit it already. That **was** your life. It isn’t anymore.  _

She shoved her fingers into her hair roughly, putting pressure on her scalp as she looked down. Forcing herself to stare at the pages. Taking no notice when three other women walked in.

‘Don’t let us disturb you Francesca. It’s sweet the way you’re still pretending to be innocent.’

Franky’s head shot up. She knew that voice. She’d heard it too many times before. If she was honest, sometimes in her nightmares.

Franky just glared out from underneath back eyelids, holding Ferguson’s gaze a second longer than necessary before looking back down at her work.

She heard the women as they shuffled to the opposite side of the room. Scrape of chairs on the linoleum floor. Creak of plastic as bodies settled.

‘So. Now that I’m Top Dog,’ she drew the words out like she was watching them drip off her tongue and onto the floor, ‘I want to know what the women want. Is anything bothering you?’

A beat of silence.

‘Kaz’s no violence rule was actually pretty effective.’ Franky didn’t know the voice but fucked if she was going to look up to find out.

‘Ah,’ Ferguson’s satisfied tone made Franky’s skin crawl, ‘Maybe we should ask Doyle about that. She knows all about violence. It’s all that pent up anger.’

The Freak never did anything without a reason. Franky knew she was being baited. _Head down, head down, head down._

‘But what about violence of a sexual nature Francesca?’ _The fuck?_  ‘I’m sure you’ve come across that in your…dalliances.’

‘I didn’t fuck the bloke to death.’ The words were out of her mouth and her face set in a grim expression before she’d even had time to think. _Fuck, smart ass tongue running away with you again. Don’t do anything you might regret._ Franky closed her eyes for a second. Even when she tried to kick the image of her out of her head her voice stayed behind.

Ferguson’s expression remained unchanged. ‘But what about rape Francesca?’

Franky shook her head to one side sharply, looking back down at her work. _Conversation over._

‘Have you ever been raped Francesca?’

Unwanted images of Juice flashed on the insides of her eyelids, but still no. And before she knew it her voice was ringing out in the room again, frozen and hard, ‘Nah, but I heard you copped a bit of a beating in the bathroom one day Joan. Enjoy it did ya? Bring back some of your old Blackmoore fantasies?’

_Your only form of defence seems to be attack._

‘Have you ever raped anyone else Francesca?’ And she was done. The slap of the flat of her hand rang out around the library as she shoved her chair backwards leaning aggressively over the desk, ‘I’ve never had to force anyone just to get a root, Freak.’

‘Ah.’ There was a pregnant pause, and Franky began to gather her things, the harsh electric light flickering overhead, ‘But have you ever been with someone who’s been raped Franky? Fallen in love with them maybe? You know, victims of _that_ sort of violence, they never get over it.’ Ferguson shook her head, ‘It’s sad really, the way that they seek out people who will hurt them in that way again. A belief they don’t deserve anything better.’

Franky could hardly hear the words the woman was saying. Focussed on just getting out of there.

‘What would you do Franky, if someone you loved had been raped? Had been _violated_ by another person. What would you do, if she’d been beaten so…badly, that all the police had been able to tell when they found her…was that she was blonde.’   

_No._

Franky didn’t look back. Wouldn’t. Couldn’t give her the satisfaction. Even though she felt bile rising in her throat. But she saw the triumphant gaze levelled at her in the reflection of the library window. Black eyes, smile like a knife.

_Franky felt the ground fall out from underneath her. Felt herself scrabble for a hand hold. Felt herself fall anyway._

* * *

‘ _Or maybe that’s it. I’m your big fucking prison fantasy.’_

_‘Franky.’_

_‘Well come on then? Let’s go.’_

_‘Franky.’_

_Hands rough, fast. Go quickly, quickly. Don’t let her see you break._

_‘What the fuck are you doing?’_

_She tries to push you away. Tries to grab onto your hands as they pull her shirt open and slide roughly over her skin. She could push you away physically if she really tried, but you are bigger, and even now, even as you abuse her, she is trying to hold your hands to make you stop and **look** at her. She thinks she can still fix you._

_‘I’m trying to get you off like a fucking crim.’_

_Come on Gidge. Come on go, go, go. Don’t let me do this to you. Don’t let me drag you down with me. Just go._

_But she was always too smart for you. Always saw through._

_‘You think you pushed me away? Hmm? Well you fucking failed. But you wanna hurt me? Well, congratulations baby.’_

_And your throat was so swollen and raw from holding it all in that you couldn’t even breathe. You’d watched her stride from your room, top hanging open, red marks on her skin from your nails. The tears were making boiling tracks down your face._

_You’d had to. Had. To._

_For her. Because she would’ve wrecked her life for you. Would’ve lost her license. Would’ve waited. You’d known she wasn’t lying when she said that. She never told you anything she couldn’t deliver on. Would never be the person to let you down._

_You’d let her down though._

_You had. You were innocent but you had._

_And all you’d wanted to do was close the door to your cell and hold her. Hold onto her tight and never ever let her go._

_But you couldn’t._

_She deserved more. Your Gidget. She did._

* * *

Franky lasted two days.

Two days of hearing voices constantly clattering around in her head.

_‘Have you ever loved someone that’s been raped, Franky?’_

And suddenly she saw Bridget with her top hanging open, exposed, and her eyes full of angry tears. Red nail marks covering her stomach.

_‘You wanna hurt me? Congratulations baby.’_

And then she saw black eyes and a smile that glinted like a knife.

And she knew. She knew the mind games. She knew the way the Freak played. But she had to really **know**. Had to know that Ferguson was just fucking with her. Had to know that Bridget hadn’t been- and every time she thought of it she saw stars and her larynx closed up and her chest burned and then she was just sadness and fury mixed up in a shell.

And maybe this was what the Freak wanted. Destroy her from the inside. She wasn’t fucking playing. 

‘Mr J.’ She stepped quickly in front of the man, hands in her pockets, as he strode down the hall.

‘What Doyle?’

‘I really need to speak to Miss Westfall please.’

‘Doyle you don’t have an appointment.’

‘Please? Mr J,’ she allowed her eyes to fill with tears, wasn’t hard with all her emotion bubbling just beneath the surface, ‘I’ve been having some really bad thoughts.’ He couldn’t see that inside her jacket pockets her fingers were trembling.

Jackson sighed, ‘Come with me.’

* * *

 

‘Doyle for you Miss Westfall. She said she was-’

And from outside in a grey hallway Franky heard the voice that she knew. The one that was safe. She felt herself relax. Ferguson had been fucking with her. This was Gidget.

Jackson nodded at her as her stepped backwards and walked away.

‘Franky. Come in.’

Franky hovered near the door as it closed behind her. Watching Bridget’s neutral face as she stepped around her desk leaning on the front edge of it. Crossing her arms, not coming any closer.

Franky’s heart both simultaneously broke and soared. She had done this. _But look at her. She knows what she deserves. Knows she’s worth better._

But regardless. She still had to know.

‘Tell me it isn’t true Gidge. What Ferguson is saying.’

Bridget closed her mouth, silencing whatever she was going to say. Observing Franky quietly where she stood in the corner, in front of the door still. _I’m not a good person. Yes you are._

‘Franky,’ her voice is gravelly, warning, ‘come on, you know she plays games. It’s how she works. You can’t let her inside your head.’

Franky nodded stiffly, once, but never took her eyes from Bridget’s, letting her look convey her desperation.

Bridget relaxed back onto her desk a little, asking softly, ‘What’s she said now?’

And if Franky closed her eyes for just a second, that tone said it all. And she was back home, sitting in their bed amongst white sheets with the absolute warmth of Bridget pressed up against her, looking over her shoulder as she checked a case file.

But she wasn’t.

Franky paced a little, taking a step to her left, then facing the door again. Her hands faced backwards on her hips, one hand coming up to tug through her hair. Could she say it? That would make it real. An actual possibility. And it couldn’t be true. Couldn’t.

‘Franky.’ Bridget breathed it out, quietly, worriedly. A moment of weakness seeing the slim, strong, tattooed girl in front of her struggle.

‘She said,’ Franky sucked the air in deeply, raggedly, ‘she said that you’d been- She asked me if I’ve ever fallen in love with someone who’s been raped?’

Franky wheeled around, stepping forward, dark eyes moving, flicking desperately for the sign that would tell her she was wrong. Pleading.

Bridget stayed perfectly still. Her body didn’t move. Her face expressionless.

Seconds ticked by.

Bridget held Franky’s gaze. Eventually she lifted her chin higher. Defiant almost.

And Franky combusted.

One arm wrapped tightly around her own waist, half doubled over, trying to hold herself together. The other hand covered her mouth as she tried desperately to both breathe and protect herself from what she knew was happening. She couldn’t even feel the tears that dripped quietly down her face.

Both arms around herself now, ‘No.’ She choked, ‘No just say that’s not- You just tell me that’s not true yeah?’ A sob threatened to wrack her body but she held it in.

Bridget still hadn’t moved. Chin high in the air. The only change being her white knuckles gripping the desk and her sad eyes.

She gave a small smile.

Franky let that sob escape in a tearless hiccup, the back of her hand coming to rest over her mouth. She faltered for a second as she walked forward, unsure. She stopped just in front of Bridget, hands aching. Aching to pull the woman into her arms. Instead she let her arms fall by her sides, hands shaking, soft tears dripping down her face. She reached shaking fingers out slowly, a hand coming to rest lightly on Bridget’s cheek.

‘Not you. God not-’

Bridget had remained frozen in all of this, but one hand loosened its death grip on the edge of her table, fingertips coming up to rest on the hand Franky had holding her face.

A small smile graced her lips. Her blue eyes filled with tears that never fell.   

She whispered when she did say it.

‘Yes, me baby.’

 

* * *

 

‘I was at uni.’

Bridget had moved to sit in her usual seat, pushing off her desk and slipping past Franky, sitting down in her chair. And if Franky didn’t know her, wasn’t intimately acquainted with each movement the woman made, then it would’ve appeared that Bridget was telling someone else’s story rather than her own. But her hair was a little mussed, and her movements lacked some of their usual quiet strength.

Another tear rolled down Franky’s cheek. She stayed standing. She couldn’t sit. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything but listen.

‘And I was out with some friends, just drinks,’ Bridget shrugged, half of her mouth pulling to the side, ‘I can’t even remember why now.’

Franky shoved her hands in her pockets. She felt like she was breathing through a straw. There wasn’t enough air.

‘And ah- one of the girls I was out with had too much. It was late, we were all- anyway. Two of us grabbed her and walked her home. We weren’t far.’ Bridget was looking at the window behind Franky, gaze firmly fixed on the shutters, ‘as we were leaving one guy made a play for her. Reached out and grabbed her arm, pulled her into him, had his hand halfway up her skirt, she was too drunk to do much.’

Someone was pinching the end of Franky’s straw because now there was no air.

‘The girl I was with pulled her away…and I told him to fuck off. To go and play with himself if all he could get was a girl who was too drunk to say no.’

Franky smiled through her tears. Because that was _her._ That was Gidge. Drunk and backed into a corner and still going to stand up for what was right.

‘And,’ Bridget’s voice wavered, ‘we left. Took her home and put her into bed and she was fine. I lived a bit across campus, anther building to those two. Not far.’

Franky almost wanted to tell her to stop. Wanted to shake her head and pull Bridget into her and tell her to not say any more. That it was okay. That she didn’t have to talk about it.

But then Bridget looked up. Looked Franky right in the eyes, jaw set. She didn’t even blink as she spoke, ‘I got halfway to my place and the guy from the pub appeared. He’d followed. I fought- but,’ Bridget closed her eyes for a second, face still dry but Franky couldn’t take it anymore. She stepped forward, desperate, _had to hold her, didn’t deserve to_ and so she dropped to her knees in front of Bridget’s chair, one hand wrapping around the one Bridget had resting in her lap. The other grabbing onto Bridget’s leg and just holding on for dear life.

Franky rested her head on Bridget’s knee, hot tears running down her face, choking in the back of her own throat.

The late afternoon sun shot through the window behind them, filtered into stripes by the blinds.

Everything was silent.

Franky shook every now and then from her position at Bridget’s knees. Bridget’s own eyes remain closed, cheeks dry, one hand pressing over her own mouth, the other, white knuckled, holding tightly onto Franky’s.

Neither said anything.

Head down, temple pressed against Bridget’s leg Franky could taste her own tears as her mouth traced over the words, ‘ _I love you, I love you, I love you,’_ without a sound.      


End file.
